Missing Clues
by sami.60
Summary: Ichigo gets roped into working with Ishida for the class Halloween Party, and he hasn't decided whether that's a blessing or a curse. Really late Halloween ficlet; oneshot, slash, IchiIshi (Request/Prompt by GirlyCutie86)


From the first time he'd really observed Ishida, Kurosaki Ichigo had been just the tiniest bit taken with him. That callous expression, the unbending pride, that pale as ice, smooth as velvet skin stretched taut over a frame so lean and lithe, begging to be bathed with tongue and hands…

But this was _Ishida_, the boy who'd never looked at Ichigo as anything more than a sometime ally, a necessary evil—half member to one of two species that Ishida simply couldn't stand. Ichigo had long ago accepted that, and had since done his best to work around it in the same manner that he set about killing hollows—ruthlessly, and with conviction.

If the smaller boy's hatred for his kind weren't enough, the substitute shinigami couldn't delude himself into thinking that they—two boys!—could ever fall in love and live happily ever after. In a world that hadn't yet learned to embrace its own uniqueness, two boys would never be able to be together, even if the Quincy's pride would accept him.

Ichigo sighed, chin resting on his fist as his maths teacher (who was also his homeroom supervisor) chattered excitedly with the student representatives about the upcoming class Halloween party. His gaze drifted to the raven haired object of his melancholy musings and he sighed, feeling dejected.

If Ishida ever figured out a way to read his thoughts, it'd be the end of the orange-haired hero. Not only was Ishida sensual, passionate, and a little bit mysterious, he was also, at times, unforgiving—but never cruel—with a tendency to refuse redemption. Ichigo had been on the receiving end of enough reishii arrows to know that the Quincy's pride was bigger than the both of their bodies together.

_Bodies… Together…_

Stifling his groan with his fist, Ichigo closed his eyes, desperately attempting to banish the images he'd accidently conjured—memories of past battles in which they'd returned, barely alive, covered in so much blood that it was impossible to tell what belonged to whom, clothing completely shredded, and he'd still want nothing more than to grab the smaller boy by the remains of his silly white cape, drag him close and then fuck the ever living life out of him.

He'd fantasized that same situation enough to know how it would play out:

They'd be fighting hollows—all very weak, but numerous enough to keep them on their toes. Adrenaline would be pumping, the blood pounding through their veins and he'd take one look at Ishida, slim fingers grasping his bow, sinewy muscle flexing under the little skin he could see, and all the blood would flow straight to his groin, his vision would blur, and he'd have stepped closer without even realizing it—subconscious mind and body fully intent on possessing his comrade. Ichigo would shake his head, distracting himself with whatever remained that he could kill. Ishida would've noticed his brief hesitation, however, and instead of letting Ichigo avoid him, he'd come close, nuzzling his nose against a strong, tanned neck, lips pressed softly to the hollow of his throat and fingers trailing Ichigo's sides as he whispered "I want you, Ichigo…"

"All those in favor of Suzuki-kun's proposal, please raise your hand."

Ichigo rubbed his eyes, lethargically raising his hand with a large portion of the class. With no idea what the proposals even were, he thought it best to side with the majority and not risk being singled out.

"Majority rules, then. The theme of this year's annual Class 2-B Halloween party will be 'Shinigami Disco.' Now we'll decide the committees."

Ichigo could feel his eyebrows twitching disbelievingly. He should've been paying attention after all. As the reps continued to assign work details, Ichigo found himself zoning out again, a sudden throbbing in his temples discouraging his concentration.

_Ishida's hair is so dark and shiny… His eyes too. I could drown in those eyes._

Except that he sounded like some sort of lovesick teenage girl.

"Kurosaki-kun? Are you alright with that?"

"What? Oh, uh…yeah, that's fine."

Smiling happily, the girl—whose name he couldn't quite remember—checked his name off her clipboard. "Alright, so Kurosaki-kun and Ishida-kun will pick the venue and be in charge of decoration. I think that's everything. Fujimara-sensei?"

"It sounds like you kids have everything covered to me. Remember to keep me updated on the basics, though. I am your supervisor, after all!"

"Yes, sir."

The class then dissolved into excited conversation. He and Ishida would be working together? Perfect! He would finally have his chance to…

But wait, hadn't he already decided to give up on the boy and his useless feelings? It didn't make any sense to keep wanting what he couldn't have; he simply needed time to get that through his skull.

That thought in mind, the scowl returned to his face, eyebrows knitting together and lips pursing unhappily.

He failed to notice the contemplative gaze aimed his direction.

The first day went as expected, with Ishida silently scribbling notes and making budget calculations while Ichigo hefted heavy boxes of decorations into the gymnasium. The second day was significantly less chilly. They ate their lunches together—or at least, as much as they could before an interruption in the form of Rukia intruded upon their quiet peace with talk of rebellion in Soul Society and increased Hollow activity

Neither of them felt like eating after that.

Following their lunch not-a-date, they didn't speak for a week, with the exception of a few minor Hollow incidents that didn't really require either of them, let alone both of them and a short debate about the use of royal colors versus pastel.

Of course, since they were supposed to be working together, it was inevitable that they'd end up eating together again, and Ichigo chastised himself for feeling so awkward about the situation. It wasn't as if he had any romantic experience—unless one counted his constant harassment by Yoruichi-san—but they were _friends, _it shouldn't matter.

They'd been working together for two weeks when Ishida surprised him with the offer of paying for dinner; they'd been working hard all day, but Ichigo had been doing most of the heavy lifting, and Ishida felt just the tiniest bit guilty. The conversation flowed smoothly, if intertwined with bits of silence and interruptions from the owner of the ramen bar.

It was in the midst of one of these silences that Ichigo glanced at Ishida from the corner of his eye, noting the way he dedicated his full attention to picking each bit of egg and chestnut from his noodles with the same dedication he used when sewing Kon back together after one of his 'accidents.'

"Do you like Orihime?"

Ishida's head jerked away from his ramen so quickly that Ichigo momentarily feared that his glasses would fly off of his face. "Why in the world would you think that?"

He seemed genuinely offended, which was rude considering how nice Orihime was to all of them. (Although he he'd be lying if Ishida's denial didn't secretly delight him.)

Ichigo shrugged. "The two of you have been hanging out after school a lot lately. I was wondering if you were planning to ask her out."

Ishida sighed, rolling his eyes and tuning back to his ramen. "Orihime and I are in Crafts Club together. We're working on a book of all the group's favorite patterns and ideas."

"Oh. That's nice. But you don't like her?"

Kurosaki seemed to be looking at his food, with little interest in the answer, but Ishida was quickly becoming suspicious of his questioning. "No, I don't like her; she's not my type."

Ichigo smiled at Ishida, though the gesture was more sinister than was intended. "You have a type? What is it?"

"You don't need to know. Besides, you'd probably just mock me for it."

"I would not! That's more Rukia's thing than mine." Ishida again rolled his eyes and briefly contemplated that they might one day stick there so that he'd permanently be looking up. "I promise not to laugh, no matter what you tell me."

A sigh and then: "I don't like girls with large breasts."

"So… girls like Rukia are more your type?"

"I don't like short girls either." Ichigo attempted to picture the girl that he had described, and the closest he came looked remarkably like a Yankee. "I also like light-colored hair."

Ichigo sipped his noodles quietly, pondering the admission.

"What about eye color?"

"Brown eyes are nice."

He nods, giddy now. _Me! Look over here! That's me!_

"Right. Well, we should probably be heading home. Come on, I'll walk with you." He stood, placing bills on the countertop.

"That's it?" At Ichigo's raised eyebrow, the brunette lowered his face toward his ramen. "I figured you'd tease me."

Ichigo shrugged, fists clenching against the urge to run his fingers through that fall of hair—so soft and smooth. "I told you I wouldn't. We should get going; it's late."

He turned away, missing Ishida sighing quietly in his wake. The brunette stood, following his partner out of the shop's interior.

The night was clear for once, and with their silence they could clearly hear the distant sounds of traffic and people, though the residential area in which they walked seemed already asleep. Ichigo tried his best to keep his eyes ahead and not on the boy beside him, his fingers white from the pressure of keeping his fists tight. _I love you_, he thought to himself. _I love you I love you I love you._

But those kind of thoughts would only end in disaster, and he felt ashamed for having had them in the first place. Ishida was his _friend._

He shouldn't be thinking such sappy thoughts about anyone, the petite boy in particular. It was disturbing.

But then, it seemed inevitable.

And the point was moot, with the way Ishida had taken to awkwardly folding his arms across his chest to keep their hands from brushing, or the way his face tilted forward to watch the ground in front of him as opposed to looking at the strawberry.

_He just couldn't help it._

And that might've been the worst of everything.

Ichigo sighed to himself, yet again missing Ishida's quick glance to his face before returning to his modest pose. Normally, he wouldn't have minded the silence, the stillness of the night, but Ichigo's melodramatic sighs and unusual demeanor were unnerving him. Obviously the taller boy had something worrying him. He bit his lip gingerly, debating whether or not to ask.

"You seem… unusually pensive." Ichigo glanced down at the other boy, lacing his fingers behind his head to lean back slightly and glance at the sky above.

"Do I?"

A small, barely noticeable smirk crossed his face before the brunette erased it, not wanting to clue the other into his thoughts. _You'd probably kill me if I told you how much you sound like Urahara-san._

Then, as if a light bulb had flicked on in his head, Ishida suddenly remembered Ichigo's curious persistence in asking about Ishida's interest in Orihime. Maybe his interest was a disguise for his own infatuation? Did Ichigo perhaps like Orihime?!

Another glance, this one sly and more considering than those before it, passed over Ichigo as the shorter boy considered him. "Have you ever been on a date?" He jerked his head at that, nearly stumbling over a crack in the cement in his surprise. "I'll take that as a 'no.'"

Ichigo, eyes narrowed, glaring at Ishida while the latter pretended not to notice. "Where did that come from?"

A shrug was his only response, having already concluded that Ichigo was obviously having girl troubles and would probably ignore them until the girl herself spoke up. The question remained, however, who did he like?

_And why did that thought make him so incredibly angry?_

"Do we have everything ready?"

"It appears so. The other committees are handling tickets and refreshments, both of which will be in the two adjacent rooms. Music committee will set up in that corner, which will leave this area here in the middle for dancing, couches on the sides for resting, and this partitioned area here in the back for mingling.

We've already set up the stage, which is where the costume contest will be based, and the dance floor will double as the gaming headquarters toward the end of the night."

"I haven't even figured out a costume yet. I hope I can find something cheap."

"I never picked you for the stingy sort." Ishida smiled imperceptibly as Ichigo huffed and picked up his blazer and bag.

"I'm only going to wear it once, so I don't want to spend a lot on it."

"The party is tonight; I'd suggest you hurry and pick out your costume immediately. I'm going to go pick mine up now."

"Yeah, yeah. What are you dressing up as?"

"Oh, you'll see. Unlike someone, I've had mine ordered in advance for a week now."

Ichigo rolled his eyes. _Such a typical Ishida reaction._ "You didn't make your own?"

"Regrettably, no; I didn't have time. But I did find a suitable replacement."

"Right. Well, I can't wait to see this replacement."

"I'll see you tonight."

Ichigo nodded, holding the door open for Ishida before waving goodbye and heading to Urahara's. Three hours later, he was trudging home, two hours before the start of their party, and the only thing he had to show for it were two orange ears perched atop his head, a kinked orange tail bouncing merrily above the belt loops on his jeans, and a face brighter than a tomato.

"This is ridiculous." But really, what other choice did he have?

Karin and Uzu apparently thought his costume was hilarious, which did not bode well for the reaction he'd receive at school. _Oh God, what will Ishida say?_

Ishida, thanks to his kind and genteel nature, did not burst into giggles at the sight of Ichigo's costume, though he was sorely tempted to.

Ichigo did not have such restraint.

Ishida had arrived, promptly at seven, wearing an oversized crustacean, complete with multiple legs, antennae, and googly-eyes. He stopped eventually—following a rather harsh scolding from Ishida and the explanation that he _hadn't_ intended to come as a lobster, that the store had mixed up his order and he'd had no other choice, and nice ears, _thank you very much._

Ichigo had thought it wise not to laugh after that.

They'd been standing by the refreshment table, watching their friends and classmates mingle and dance, observing the party itself with genuine disinterest. Neither had really bothered to start up a conversation with the other, so it was something of a surprise when Ishida broke the quiet.

"It will probably go better if you ask her to dance."

Ichigo glanced over, befuddled. "What are you talking about?"

"You like Rukia, don't you? Getting her to accept your feelings will probably go easier if you start by asking her to dance."

Wide-eyed, he opened and closed his mouth once, twice, trying to form his denial. Meanwhile, Ishida continued to watch the dancers further out, absently tapping his toes against the hard wood floors. "I don't like Rukia!" His voice was pitched higher than he was used to, and he swallowed, trying to still the blush infusing his cheeks. _I like you! _

One arched eyebrow was the only response he received and Ichigo, at a loss and knowing that he probably couldn't convince Ishida without outing himself, huffed a sigh and turned away, crossing his gloved hands over his chest.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. You can't help who you like, and it's not like because she's a Soul Reaper she won't be able to return your feelings."

Ichigo scoffed. The irony of the moment was incredible.

"I don't like Rukia, I… I like someone else." _Better than having him tease me about my nonexistent 'feelings.'_ "I'd rather not talk about it."

A scoff and then: "I don't care. You need to stop hesitating! Your melancholic daydreaming has almost gotten you killed three times in the last week by simple Hollow—not to mention I had to organize all of this." His gesture encompassed the surrounding area. "Is it Orihime? Rangiku?" A pause, short this time, as though he was measuring Ichigo, and then, more quietly, "Yoruichi-san?"

"I like you, OK?" Ichigo scowled, turning away from the surprised Ishida. He'd cracked. How pitiful. And now Ishida was never going to talk to him, although maybe that was better for everyone.

At least he wouldn't have to put up with his self-righteous attitude anymore, or that perpetual frown, or the way he always slid up his glasses with the tip of his finger that should've made him think of grandmothers or professors but really just made him hot all over and OK maybe he didn't really want Ishida to hate him because it might actually kill him.

"Idiot."

"Huh?" His reaction simply made Ishida smile bemusedly, the adorably wide eyes staring at him from Ichigo's normally stern face such a sweet contrast that he could've melted. Of course, the ears perched atop his bright orange hair weren't helping him to take the situation seriously.

"I like you too. If you weren't so oblivious, you'd have realized that by now." Ichigo's blank face was probably the best reaction Ishida could've hoped for. Honestly. All the time they'd wasted and this was the result?

He hobbled forward, the awkward legs of his costume inhibiting his movement. One claw extended to a soft paw, its owner's cheeks bright pink and his jaw clenched tightly. "Thank you for telling me; I'll accept your feelings."

The carrot-top rolled his eyes, barely cracking a smile as his fingers clenched around the bulbous claw. "Why are you talking like that?"

"It's how I was raised."

"It'll be a pain having to get used to my boyfriend being so formal."

"Maybe you'll learn some manners yourself." Ishida raised an eyebrow, watching as Ichigo rolled his eyes.

The rest of the party proceeded with minimal trouble. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and school the next week was filled with chatter about the event.

It took another month before Ichigo noticed that nothing had really changed between himself and Ishida.

Oh, there were the looks. Looks that spoke volumes about what they'd said and done the night of the festival. Looks that hinted at shared feelings and passionate touches in the safety of Ichigo's bedroom after school with the door locked against his sisters' prying eyes and Rukia's inconvenient appearances.

But throughout all of this, their dynamic was still the same.

Nothing was different, and it bothered him.

It was another week before he decided to do something about it.

He cornered the smaller boy in his bedroom after school, though he'd come willingly enough.

Ishida didn't need much in the way of encouragement or persuasion to accept his touch. In fact, he was readily pliant beneath Ichigo's sword-roughened fingertips and moaning as two fingers slid easily inside of him at once. He didn't even complain about the sudden jump in their intimacy. Ichigo wiggled his fingertips so they brushed against the brunette's prostate and he moaned again, louder this time.

Before he could gather his thoughts to protest Ichigo's somewhat rough treatment, Ichigo pressed him into the mattress, their combined scent blanketing them and Ichigo's stiff member thrusting against his own. He groaned at the impact, squirming for more friction, more skin, more _Ichigo._

When he looked up, the Quincy looked as though he was barely containing his frustration, his lust and, if Ichigo wasn't imagining it, an even greater bit of love than he could've hoped for. His thrusts suddenly picked up speed and force, sending the weak-limbed boy slamming into the pillows and headboard. Ichigo's hands barely held him in place while he pulled back to concentrate on the fingers covered in warmth beneath him.

Ishida's cheeks flushed, biting his lip as though by doing so he could hold back the rampant moans and needy whimpers that brought goosebumps to Ichigo's skin and made him want to plunge into the boy beneath him full force. Ishida drew his attention back where it belonged with a startled yelp before freezing mid-squirm and shuddering delicately, his eyes just barely slitting open.

"Do you love me?"

"I… I don't…"

Ichigo's fingers kept a near-constant pressure against his sensitive prostate, and Ichigo savored the feeling of the body clenching around them.

"Please… I can't…"

"Tell me honestly." His lips slanted over Ishida's nipple as he arched into Ichigo's caresses, back bending an impossible angle and bottom pressing down against the fingers inside of him.

"I do. I do. Oh _mygodpleaseIloveyou." _

"Don't forget that." Ichigo crooked his fingers once more inside of Ishida, pulling on his shuddering erection with a tight fist and Ishida broke, crying out his name and desperately clenching the surrounding sheets. Ichigo felt an immense surge of pride flood through him at the show.

_He's mine._

_Mine._

When the shudders finally ceased, Ishida weakly smirked up at his lover; glancing down surreptitiously at the erection jutting prouder than ever from between his thighs.

"Do you…want to…?"

Before Ichigo could even manage a grunt in reply, he was distracted by Ishida's hands gripping his thighs and sliding his body closer, somehow managing to sit up without dislodging Ichigo's fingers. His legs spread impossibly wide and the intrusion in his body feeling more uncomfortable by the moment, Ishida tentatively began stroking Ichigo—his chest and thighs mostly, but gently as if afraid that he'd break. His fingertips stroked smoothly over tiny bits of raised flesh—scars from his human life, because those on his soul wouldn't show in this form. Ishida briefly wondered if he could do this with Ichigo's shinigami self, if the experience would differ in quality, but Ichigo's suddenly jerking fingers reminded him of his impatience and he corrected his train of thought.

"I think I… I want you to… Make love to me?"

Ishida blinked. One moment he was facing Ichigo, looking up at him shyly through his lashes, and in the next he's again spread eagled on the bed, Ichigo's warm brown eyes clenched tight and his teeth and tongue forcibly molesting lips pliant in trust.

He wrapped his thighs around the substitute shinigami—no, his lover—bringing him closer to his body, suddenly desperate to feel the heat that Ichigo constantly exuded, needing to be close, to have him melded to every bit of his body and soul.

His dark hair lay spread across the pillow like the wings of a fallen angel, and Ichigo had the strangest image of him glowing, as though he really were some sort of ethereal being, come to grace Ichigo with his blessing. Glad that Ishida was no longer trying to hold back his need, his want, he could at least admit to being extremely turned on by his tsundere behavior from earlier.

Although he was pretty sure he'd be turned on by Ishida doing anything.

He moaned into the brunette's ear as he pushed himself inside, feeling the tight warmth wrapping around him and pulling him farther in. He found himself unable to stop when suddenly he was biting down on Ishida's shoulder—instinctual, aggressive, _marking._

Ishida thrusted up against him, hips bucking wildly, most likely uncomfortable, but the voice at his ear begging for _more, please, yes—faster._ Ichigo wasn't sure which of them was moaning anymore, and he also wasn't sure if he cared. Suddenly he's incredibly grateful that Yoruichi had never fulfilled her promise to steal his virginity some innocent night.

Ichigo was thrown from his carefully frenzied strokes when he glanced down, catching sight of Ishida's still throbbing cock moving with every jostle of their hips. He had the insane urge to stop everything, to hold Ishida down and make love to that column of nerves that jerked with every tap to his prostate, but he was so close to his pinnacle—both of them were—and he resolved to fulfill that desire at a later time.

He settled for sitting up, pulling Ishida closer to him and grasping his cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Ishida whimpered at first, hands shooting above his head to grab ineffectually at the headboard, but with Ichigo's continued attention he could do no more than rock his hips between the roughly callused hand at his front and the thickly veined cock in his ass. Those eyes—the ones that he'd sought more than once after waking from deep sleep, covered in his own essence—stared at him throughout all of this, as though they could see his soul.

It was all too much, everything was frenzied, passionate, every kiss made him melt and each stare sent him to his boiling point. It seemed as though this would continue, Ishida slowly losing his mind under the surprisingly attentive touches Ichigo administered, but then there was pressure, decidedly hot and incredibly good pressure inside of him, and Kurosaki's cock felt as though it would rip him apart as it swelled and sped up and even though he'd already cum once, even though he didn't think it was reasonable—even for a healthy teenage boy—suddenly he was screaming, crying Ichigo's name through swollen lips in the most incredible display that Ichigo had ever seen.

The carrot-top followed immediately after, unable to remain unaffected.

Ishida could've sworn he heard a whispered _I love you_ leave the bigger boy's lips, but everything was happening so fast and the pounding in his ears refused to let up and even though he desperately wanted to ask, to hear it again, he felt like he might explode with the gruffest expression of sentiment from his at times over-the-top lover.

Some time later, when they found themselves breathing almost normally, Ichigo laying collapsed next to Ishida while individually they explored their inner thoughts, Ichigo's hand sought his lover's, and, fingers curled together, they drifted into sleep. Later, they'd probably need to talk more about how this would work—_how will we work together after this?_

For now, all is calm, all is silent, all is well.

And if they miss the sound of the door clicking shut and the whispered footsteps heading away from the door, well, that'll make for an excellent story.


End file.
